Days Go By
by Ellcrys
Summary: A man who has long cloaked himself in mystery reveals the hope he has kept hidden, when a visitor arrives at midwinter. S1, short, and strange.


**Days Go By**

Cook's not quite right in the head, the innkeeper tells people, as he shakes his head - but he makes many a fine meal. 

Oh no, Cook's not dangerous, not what he would call a madman, he quickly assures those guests who take a suspicious look at the plates set before them, wondering what may be in their soups and breads that they might not be seeing. He's not absent-minded enough to make any mistakes, either - in fact, he never so much as burns a biscuit. Despite the hair, no one's ever complained of finding one in their dinner. Cook's just a bit odd. 

The innkeeper can't even say that Cook's unfriendly, though he rarely takes part in conversations apart to instruct the serving girls that sometimes help him in the kitchen, when it's a busy night. He's not rude or heavy-handed or arrogant; in fact they report him as being rather pleasant, though he doesn't respond to their questioning about his name, or where he's from. He just smiles faintly, and says it doesn't matter, so long as the dinner is made and made well. When the girls ask the innkeeper, he can't tell them Cook's real name either, because he never asked. 

So why did he hire Cook, they ask? The innkeeper just shrugs and repeats what he'd said before - he makes many a fine meal - and Cook is right. His name doesn't matter. Cook's been here at the inn for longer than most of the other employees by this time, and the innkeeper has always found him trustworthy. 

The first time he saw Cook, several years ago, there was a boy with him, tall and dark and just barely on the edge of manhood. Cook talked more back then, and though older, seemed to defer to the boy a great deal, and even asked to use a corner of the kitchen for one day to make the boy's favorite meals while they stayed. As for the boy, the look in his eyes made it easy to see that he adored Cook for more than the food. The innkeeper, after eating Cook's food for a day himself, had asked if he'd like to stay on for a time, but he refused. 

He wasn't sure why, when Cook came back a few months later, the boy wasn't with him. He even asked after him, wondering if some tragedy had befallen the boy, but Cook just shook his head, and asked if the innkeeper still was looking for someone to do the cooking. The innkeeper's sister would rather spend her time overseeing the maids anyhow, and wasn't insulted at all - she'd tasted Cook's dinner when he'd stayed before, and gracefully resigned from the position at his return. 

Years have gone by, and everyone's gotten a bit older. The innkeeper himself can't get up and down the stairs like he used to, and is forced to use a cane most of the time. His sister's son is learning to run the place, and doing a pretty good job of it. As for Cook, he doesn't look much different, somehow. Maybe he's started to go grey, but if so, it doesn't show among the blond. He rarely turns his face to anyone, spending his time turned to the stove or the counter, and his hair covers half of it anyhow when the chores are done and he goes to his room for the night. He's up before anyone else every morning, beginning breakfast before the guests rise. In a way, it seems to the innkeeper as if the only thing that keeps him going is the necessity of feeding the hungry travellers. 

Cook's well-known for his food now, especially his stews, and other innkeepers in the neighboring towns ask the innkeeper how he ended up with Cook. The reports that word of his expertise in the kitchen has spread to other towns makes Cook smile, just a little. 

The innkeeper has caught a glimpse of his face, now and then, often when there's a young man staying the night. Cook will look up at the sound of a boy's voice, though he tries to hide it. Sometimes, if the boy has dark hair or his head is covered, Cook goes to the kitchen door and watches in silence until he can see more clearly. His green eyes are usually distant, mirrors that show nothing of what he's thinking, but at those times they come alive just a little, and show a frail hope. He looks like when he first came then, and his eyes, at least, haven't aged a day. 

Cook doesn't seem to realize, the innkeeper thinks, that after the years that have passed, his boy wouldn't be a boy anymore, no matter what happened to part them. 

The smell of his roast beef, with a side of fried potatoes and garlic, is wafting into the hall from the kitchen when another customer enters the inn, causing the bell above the door to ring. The gust of snowy wind that scatters bits of white across the old carpet is cut off as the door closes, and the innkeeper rises from his chair behind the counter to attend the new guest. He's heavily cloaked, and his voice is soft as he asks about vacancy. It's a slow winter night, hunting season having ended, and most people have already gone to their homes for the midwinter holidays; there's plenty of vacancy. 

The new guest hesitates, however, the hood of his cloak rustling as he glances towards the dining room where a few motley mercenaries and aimless travellers are enjoying their dinner, gathered together at the table closest to the fire. He wants to know if they're having stew tonight. 

The innkeeper tells him no - but if Sir has come to try Cook's famous stews, he needs only to stay another day or so. After all, Cook makes his stews often, and wouldn't be averse to a request. 

The cloaked guest nods, and hands over a few coins for the night's stay and the meals that come with it, and gets a room key in exchange. The guest doesn't remove his gloves as he takes it, though his fingers are clumsy on the metal, and the innkeeper suggests that he go join the others and have a bite to eat - Cook's food will warm him inside while the fire warms him outside. 

It isn't long after the cloaked guest goes to the dining room that the innkeeper hears a sudden crash from the kitchen, and the voices of the other guests fall silent. Taking up his cane, the innkeeper makes his way towards the sound as quickly as he can manage - if anything happens to Cook, he doesn't know how he could possibly find a replacement worthy of him. 

The serving girls have been sent home early, due to the holiday and the slow business, and so it was Cook himself who had taken up the platters and dishes - which now lie shattered across the wooden floorboards in front of the kitchen. The innkeeper winces, knowing how Cook apologized profusely and repeatedly when the elbow of an unaware guest once caused him to drop a single clay mug - but Cook doesn't look up at his appearance. 

Instead, Cook is staring at the new arrival, who still has one gloved hand poised on the hood of his heavy cloak where he'd pulled it back. He stares back at Cook, and their expressions are mirror images of each other - shock and self-consciousness. The other customers are staring too, but only out of curiosity. It takes a moment for the innkeeper to put two and two together, however, and he can't quite believe what he's seeing when he does. 

"...Welcome back, Young Master. Though everyone else is having beef and potatoes, I've just a bit of stew if you'd prefer it; I've had it simmering on the back of the stove, just in case this was the night." 

The new guest nods. "I can serve myself, if you'd like - it looks like you have your hands full," he adds, with a glance at the broken crockery between them. 

"No, no - sit down," Cook urges him. "I'll get your dinner right away, and then I'll attend to this mess." 

"Gremio." The name is murmured fondly, barely audible to the innkeeper, but now he knows. "I didn't come for your stew." 

Cook - the innkeeper can't reconcile the name 'Gremio' so easily after all these years of calling him something else - blushes slightly, not looking a day older than when he was hired, and looks down at the floor. "...Thank you, Young Master." 

The guest kneels, gathering a few shards in his gloved hands. "I'll take care of this," he offers. "Once I'm done, I'll join you in the kitchen." 

Cook nods. "I've always had an extra chair set," he says simply. "I knew you would find me someday." 

The innkeeper watches as the boy - inexplicably a boy still - carefully cleans up the broken pottery, then disappears into the kitchen with the cook. None of the other guests are served seconds at dinner that night, and Cook is not seen again, but no one complains about the lack of service. 

* * *

_Written because of a strange little RP, in which Gremio took some rather drastic measures - and then, ironically, things didn't turn out this way after all. Not yet, anyway..._


End file.
